


bound

by dozmuffinxc



Series: catch me as i fall [5]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Character Development, Confessions, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 20:14:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16772107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dozmuffinxc/pseuds/dozmuffinxc
Summary: Hurley felt a cold fist tighten around her heart as she realized that never, in the weeks that they had been together, had she seen fear so clearly etched on the face of her friend and lover.





	bound

Hurley woke in the dark, eyes wide and searching the shadows for whatever it was that had caused the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end. For a terrifying, disconcerting moment, she couldn’t remember where she was: the smells were wrong, and her blankets at home weren’t this light. She forced her breathing to slow and pressed her eyelids tight for two seconds before opening them again. As they adjusted to the darkness, her mind slowly caught up: she was in Sloane’s garage; she knew this place; she was safe.

What, then, had woken her? The windows were shut and the fire had died out hours ago. Perhaps she had imagined it, but maybe she should wake up Sloane just to be safe…

_Sloane._

Curled up next to her in the bed, Sloane was trembling. Her face was a pale moon in the halo of her black hair, and her hands where they held onto a spare pillow were rigid claws threatening to rip the thing to tatters. Hurley felt a cold fist tighten around her heart as she realized that never, in the weeks that they had been together, had she seen fear so clearly etched on the face of her friend and lover.

“Sloane,” she whispered, reaching across the bed to put a hand on the other woman’s shoulder. The bare flesh was slick with sweat, and at the touch of Hurley’s fingers, Sloane’s quaking intensified and alarm bells went off in Hurley’s head.

Sloane was muttering under her breath, the sound strained and distorted. As Hurley leaned closer, she could catch only individual words and disjointed phrases.

“Please,” Sloane repeated over and over again. “Stop--!”

Hurley called her name again, louder and more insistent, and when she did, Sloane’s eyes flew open and she rose, gasping, from the bed. Her eyes were wild as she stared into the darkness of the room, not registering Hurley’s presence beside her, and when Hurley grabbed her hand, she actually screamed.

“It’s OK!” Hurley said, scooting across the mattress. Without waiting for a response, she wrapped the other woman in a firm embrace. “You’re safe.”

After a minute where the only sounds in the room were the heavy staccato of Sloane’s ragged breath and the quiet whisper of Hurley’s fingers rubbing circles into the half-elf’s back, Sloane seemed to come back to herself.

“Hurley?” she said, her voice heavy with sleep and confusion.

“I’m right here,” Hurley replied, sighing with relief. “It was just a dream.”

Sloane shuddered in Hurley’s arms.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice muffled by Hurley’s shirt. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Sloane,” Hurley said, leaning back just a fraction so that the other woman could see her face, “ _never_ apologize to me. Not for that. Not for… for nightmares.” She paused, her hand drifting up Sloane’s back and into the tumble of dark hair that had come loose from her braid. “Do you want to tell me about it?” 

Sloane’s eyes darkened and she began to disentangle herself from the cocoon of Hurley’s arms.

“It was nothing,” she said.

Hurley clenched her teeth and pressed a fist into the soft down of her pillow. Frustration rose like a kindling fire from her gut, and although she did her best to damp it, she couldn’t keep the note of anger from her voice.

“Don’t do that,” she said, her tone low and strained. “Don’t tell me it’s nothing. You were screaming, Sloane. You were _scared_. You scared _me_!” Her words caught in her throat and she had to force herself to swallow before she could continue. “You trust me with so much, Sloane: why can’t you trust me with this?”

Hurley pressed her eyes shut against the hot tears that threatened to fall, and as she sat there, willing them away, she felt long, slender fingers lace carefully between her own. When she opened her eyes, Sloane was sitting on the edge of the bed, her figure in hazy silhouette against the weak moonlight filtering in from the window overhead.

“The dream is always the same,” Sloane said, staring into the darkness, her face blank. “We’re running – the Goldcliff orphans, I mean – and they’re chasing us. We run through the city, and when we reach the wastelands, we should be safe, but they’re right behind us with their swords and their knives and their fire. Their faces are black, but I know all of their names, and they are _merciless_ , Hurley – to _children_. I’m quick, but the little ones aren’t. I can hear them screaming my name.” 

Sloane’s fingers tightened painfully around Hurley’s as she spoke and her nails dug into soft flesh, but Hurley didn’t pull away.

“Who, Sloane?” Hurley asked, white rage at the image of helpless children running from faceless attackers sending sparks of red shooting across her vision. “Who would do that?”

Sloane turned to her, face inscrutable.

“The militia,” she said.

_“What?”_

“They hunted us, Hurley. For sport, I think, but the mayor sanctioned it. There was no room in their glittering city for dirty orphans, so they rounded us up and… the ones they caught, they never came back. Sent off to work in the poor houses, probably, but they might as well have been dead. And if one or two didn’t quite make it there in one piece, well…”

Hurley’s head spun. She knew well enough the corruption of Goldcliff that turned a blind eye to the hoards of children who wandered the wastelands, scrabbling for food where they could, stalking the outskirts of town like miniature ghosts. She helped them when she was able, but they were practically feral. In a city founded on profit and decadence, there were few institutions in place to benefit them – largely good Samaritans and individuals like Sloane who made it their job to see as many fed as possible. But to _hunt them down_? Like _animals_? And to do… what to them? They weren’t criminals! They were just trying to survive!

“Gods above,” Hurley breathed. “I… I didn’t know!”

“Why would you,” Sloane replied, pulling her hand away at last. Hurley felt the bitterness in her lover’s voice like a wall of ice between them. She had never seen this side of Sloane before, but she knew in that moment that it had been there all along, barely concealed beneath a mask of bravado and daring.

“I’m _so sorry_ ,” Hurley said, shifting herself across the bed so that she was at Sloane’s side even as the other woman leaned away and refused to meet her eye. “What happened to you – to them – is so wrong.”

“What’s _still_ happening,” Sloane spat, her back rigid and her hands balled into fists in her lap. “Do you really think that Goldcliff cares about its huddled masses? They’re disposable, Hurley. Why do you think they allow the wagon races to happen? It’s all good fun, and if a couple of vagrants aiming for glory die on the track, what loss is it, really?”

“And you…” She paused, looking at Hurley as though taking the full measure of her for the first time. “You’re one of them. How can you work alongside those monsters, Hurley?”

Hurley was aghast.

“Do you… do you really think that of me? Seriously, Sloane? What they did to you and the other orphans was wrong, but that doesn’t happen anymore, not under Captain Bane’s leadership. He helped shut down the work houses, don’t you remember? He wants to make Goldcliff a better place! Do you really think I would do this job if he didn’t?”

From her perch at the edge of the bed, Sloane seemed to deflate, her shoulders slumping and her head falling into her hands. Hurley had to strain to hear her response.

“No,” Sloane said, and her voice sounded truly miserable. “No, I don’t. But Goldcliff hasn’t changed as much as you think, and we are still so damned _powerless_. How do you stand it?”

“Just like you,” Hurley said gently, scooting closer to the half-elf. “One day at a time. We make what difference we can, and we live our little rebellions as best we’re able.”

Sloane leaned her head on Hurley’s shoulder, her weight pressing against Hurley’s side as though she couldn’t hold herself up any longer.

“Not enough,” she murmured. “It’s never enough.”

Hurley sighed. The urge to comfort Sloane, to reassure her, was almost too great to bear, but she tamped it down because there were no words that could assuage the pain that left Sloane’s muscles tense even as she rested against Hurley’s shoulders. The half-elf’s accusation still rang in her ears, and just for a moment, although they were physically so close, Hurley felt completely and devastatingly alone.

“Come on,” she said at last, pulling Sloane down onto the pillows and draping the blankets loosely across their backs. “No more nightmares tonight. For either of us. OK?”

Sloane hummed her quiet approval, but before she closed her eyes, she reached out with a sudden urgency and cupped Hurley’s cheek in her palm.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, “for what I said. I don’t think you’re like them. I don’t think you’re a monster. You know that, right?”

Hurley smiled, and although the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, it was genuine.

“I know,” she said, pressing her forehead gently against Sloane’s. “I know.”


End file.
